Always Fighting

😳 that's an honorable man🫡

Since there are a lot of things that Tech does and says that remind me of my grandfather, and I often will take things my grandfather does or some of his quirks and give them to Tech in my writings or headcanons, I must propose this:

Tech, although yes he does snark and sass and complain about things, is really rather calm and mild-mannered, but all of that chill goes out the window the SECOND someone disrespects or is rude to his wife Phee.

Happy may the fourth have a 4 minutes animatic about Crosshair and Omega bounding over sniping stuff.

realize that I never drawn Hunter Bad Batch shower scene, so I'll do it now

He looks so good!

hi. i made a clone oc :3 i’ll post more of him, his men, and his generals soon 🫶

I wish they did, it would have been better if they did. (But then the other stories wouldn't have happened)

i like to think theyd get their happy ending, too

Trying to find a look for my star wars OC Nina. She's a novice baker and was hired at a bakery called "Coco and Yua," and so far she has learned the basics of making bread and brownies and goes on deliveries. She's nervous but excited and can't wait until she has become a master baker!

She extremely nervous in new situations and will stumble over her words, but she tries to be polite as much as possible. Having upset customers makes her upset so she do what she can to make them happy, which gets her into trouble (people pleasing will be the death of her). She sings a lot which annoys her coworkers, but they don't have the heart to tell her to stop.

Early twenties, a bit naive, kind, and a bit anxious.

The promise.

The faith in that promise.

He needs more hugs!

Might

Read here on Ao3!

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 2 | Prompt: Injured

Rated: G | Words: 511

“Caf?” Hunter asks one morning, holding out a thick mug.

With a hum, Crosshair reaches for it, the dregs of sleep still fogging his mind.

Hunter pulls the mug back, wincing, as he says, “Uh, sorry. Uhm…other hand, Cross.”

Crosshair looks down at his outstretched hand and sees that it is missing, phantom fingers reaching and flexing. He drops his arm. “I don’t want caf,” he mutters, turning away, the flame of embarrassment burning across his face.

“I’ll just leave it on the counter if you change your mind,” Hunter says.

But Crosshair won’t change his mind. He’s already tugging on his boots and walking out the door.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, but the cool, damp air almost instantly soothes the scorching humiliation of his absentmindedness. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so intensely, why it feels like an abrasive lapse of memory. He’d seen Echo deal with the same, exact issue as he acclimated to the loss of his own limbs after his rescue from Skako Minor. He’d never thought Echo ridiculous or idiotic for it. In fact, he’d admired the reg’s tenacity, how quickly he corrected and adapted.

And yet, here is Crosshair, refusing a cup of caf because he used the wrong hand to claim it.

“Crosshair, wait up!” Omega’s voice floats behind him. He stops, but doesn’t turn, listening as her running steps get closer, tangled with the sound of Batcher’s thundering gallop. Omega trots to a stop at his left side and slips her hand into his. “Can we walk with you?”

“I’m not going anywhere…just walking,” he says.

Omega smiles up at him. “Perfect.”

He shoves his right wrist in his jacket pocket as they walk, and he can almost pretend his hand is still there, hidden from sight.

Batcher lumbers ahead, leading them down to the beach. The hound stops every little while to look back at them, making sure her shadows are still nearby. Omega swings their arms playfully, singing a soft, hummed tune that Crosshair recognizes from the docks. A melody sung by the fishermen.

“Can I help with the specs for your prosthetic?” Omega asks suddenly.

Crosshair frowns. “My what?”

“Your prosthetic,” Omega says again, patiently. “Can I help design it?”

“I’m not getting a prosthetic,” Crosshair says icily.

Omega is looking up at him, he can see her expression crumble out the corner of his eye, but he won’t look at her. He swallows, glancing away, and hiding his face entirely.

“That’s okay if you don’t want one,” Omega says after a moment, “I just thought you might.”

Omega doesn’t hum or swing his arm the rest of the way to the beach. As soon as their boots touch the sand, she chases after Batcher, laughing as the hound crashes into the surf.

Crosshair finds a piece of driftwood log to sit on and watches them play. He takes his right wrist out of his pocket and tries to imagine it with an artificial hand. He doesn’t know if he wants that.

But he might.

END

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It's a graphic novel Tech! The shading is so good!

Self-soothing Tech doodle. He's thinking about his plans to rebuild Marauder! The… Havoc Maraudeux 😐